Cold Bruschetta and Bubblegum
by Marshmallow Goop
Summary: Two little AU stories featuring Ruby and Sapphire.
1. Cold Bruschetta

**Cold Bruschetta**

* * *

It's cold.

She waited the half hour that every schmuck off the streets who waltzes into a restaurant waits, and by the time it finally gets to her, it's cold. Saucy, Spitfire Ruby, whose snarky, biting reviews sink restaurants and companies to the ground, and here she is being served _cold food_. She doesn't know whether to laugh or break the table, or both.

It ends up she does neither, slouching back in her chair, crossing her arms, thinking up all the ways she can tear this restaurant apart with nothing but words. Right now she should be sitting in the best seat the place has to offer, getting all the chef's special dishes, being waited on like the absolute Queen of Food that she is. Waiters should be keeping their eye on her—and her glass—constantly, offering refills whenever it's even the tiniest bit low. But no. Here she is with a plate of cold bruschetta and breadsticks, her glass of complimentary water depleted to such shallowness that you might as well say it's empty, slammed in a corner next to families and babies and the guy who just got off from his crappy part-time job.

Unbelievable.

What could she even say about such a place? She leans further back on her chair, far enough that just two legs hold her up, and places her feet on a blank space of the table. _The next Ice Age could come and go by the time you finally get your food_ , she thinks. _And it sure feels like it, too. Once the server comes by and slams your dish down in front of you oh-so-politely like there's nothing wrong with it, you'll notice that there's not a bit of a steam coming from something that's supposed to be served warm, and once you touch it to your lips, you realize you're gonna need something a lot more powerful than a little 'ole Chapstick to cure the damage you just subjected yourself to—you feel like you've got frostbite all over your mouth._ She chuckles at herself, bringing her chair level again, and calls over a passing server.

She won't bother with sending the food back—that would just mean more waiting, and she's already wasted enough time here. Instead she demands to see the owner.

"I want to know who wakes up the morning and goes to bed at night thinking this kind of service is acceptable," she says.

The server nods and goes, and Ruby realizes that she's going to be waiting for _something_ no matter what she does. She takes to playing with the food rather than eating it in her impatience, poking at it idly with her fork. She won't subject herself to eating a cold mass of garbage that never should have been given to _her_ in the first place.

Who could even run a dump like this? She imagines a bitter old man (balding, of course, because bitter old men _must_ be balding—it justifies the bitterness). Maybe his wife left him and his son's a loser and he doesn't care about good food anymore, if he ever did. Maybe the world was so cruel to him that he decided to be cruel to _her_ of all people. Maybe he hates everything and shouldn't even have one foot in this business. Ruby smiles at the thought. If anyone has the power to get him _out_ of the business, it's her.

But her ideas are proven more-than-wrong when a figure approaches her after ten minutes of daydreaming and imagining. It's not a cranky man in his 70s. It's a lady—a _young_ lady, and a beautiful one at that. Ruby finds herself flushing as the woman sits down in front of her with the grace and poise she would never expect from a restaurant owner. After all, Ruby knows full well of the pressures of the kitchen and the business, but even with a hairnet tightly in her hair, this lady seems like she just stepped out of a fancy opera rather than the messy, anxiety-filled restaurant cook room.

She introduces herself as the owner and head chef. "I was told you wished to see me," she says.

Ruby nods, thinking over her words carefully. Normally she wouldn't hesitate to spit out whatever's on her mind in a situation like this, but something about the woman in front of her has left her tongue-tied, and cautious.

"This service is deplorable," she says, eventually, "don't you have any idea who I am?"

"Of course." The woman looks bored, as though she's been through this a million times before. "Restaurant reviewers come here often, Miss Ruby. And each time, they are aghast that I would have my staff treat them as any other customer."

She smiles, brushing a bit of hair that'd fallen from her hairnet out of her eyes and back away where it should be. Ruby is speechless.

The woman continues, "But I have this philosophy: If I gave special treatment to reviewers and no one else, the review wouldn't exactly be fair, now would it?" A laugh. Even in the situation, Ruby can't help but find it an unbelievably wonderful sound. "It's not my desire to run a restaurant of _lies_. I will take the truth, even if it is cruel."

Ruby is left staring at her, mouth agape. She has never been spoken to in such a way. Not at any restaurant she's ever reviewed in before. She doesn't know how to react, whether to feel shocked or impressed, or both. She doesn't know what to say.

The woman speaks for her. "It seems you haven't touched your plate. I would think it fair you do before you tear my restaurant apart, wouldn't you?"

Ruby flushes harder. She's right. This lady who has the guts to speak to her like this is _right_. With a groan, she picks up her fork and eats.

Maybe it is a bit cold, but somehow… it's wonderful.


	2. Bubblegum

**Bubblegum**

* * *

Ruby's lips taste like bubblegum and it doesn't make a bit of sense because Sapphire swears up and down that Ruby never chews the _bubblegum_ sort of gum but rather those intense sort of flavors you use to keep yourself awake during an especially boring lecture, like Hot Tamales you never swallow.

So she asks if it's a kind of perfume Ruby's wearing, or a lipstick, and Ruby just pulls away from the kiss and laughs and Me, wearing lipstick? she asks, and then she adds, Or _perfume_? And she laughs some more and says, No, that's ridiculous, don't be silly, I'm not all proper like you.

And Ruby looks at her with a sort of longing sigh as the words come out, eyes going up and down as though they are Very Different People, as though it doesn't make a bit of sense that they're wrapped together like this, as though all the signs say that they shouldn't work, that quiet, daydreaming, honor student Sapphire could never get along with the strong, fearless, sports star Ruby. Never like this.

And maybe it's just Sapphire being stuck-up or arrogant or cold or heartless or whatever else it is people like to whisper about her (When they're just jealous of your grades, says Ruby), but Sapphire knows that they're not so different, and knows that those rough, calloused hands do more than hold lacrosse sticks, because they also hold other hands, and they comfort, and they heal, and in that way they are very much Proper, just like the person they belong to.

And so Sapphire says, You are proper in your own way, Ruby, and I am proper in mine, and that's fine, and there's nothing wrong with that.

And Ruby asks, You're saying we're not complete opposites?

And Sapphire answers, We're not as different as you think.

And Ruby stops a moment and does that thing she does sometimes where she just stares in Sapphire's eyes and Sapphire feels her face turn very red but then Ruby smiles real big and leans in for another kiss.

"Maybe you're right," Ruby admits. "We're both _fabulous_ kissers."


End file.
